AbyssalRoadTrip
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Hell's Songbird - 9
🕑 Added 2022-01-15 01:05:59 +0000 UTCMentally groaning at the thought of immediately attacking another horde, I gesture at the crescent blades. “What’s the deal with the ones that aren’t rusted?”
“No Mana in them, so likely some alchemical process used in refining the metal,” Ilya says dismissively, and motions towards the towers clockwise around the city. “Teleport above the second one along.”
“How many do you what to do?”
Ilya’s smirk is quick in appearing. “I don’t want to do any, but it’ll get you stronger and reduce the chance of your destruction. I’d prefer to avoid facing a review process soon.”
“How many towers do you plan to handle?”
“One more for every question you ask between now and me saying we’re done,” retorts Ilya, and laughs when I groan. “We’ll fight during the day and train at night until you are stronger. Once you’re strong enough to handle incorporeal undead or whatever comes out at night, then we’ll fight night or day until I feel you are strong enough for groups of Demons.”
“Powers and skills develop more through practice with them.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
I almost ask if I get a refund for her questions, but I hold my tongue and change tack. “Keep a watch please. I want to practice something I’m not supposed to tell you about.”
Tucking my wings in tight, I still duck from reflex heading down the stairs. Un-rusted weapons, and bone scraps get pulled into Inventory, and Mr Message doesn’t take long to tell me it’s working.
[Inventory (5->6)]
The more I sweep up, the more Mr Message approves. Though after the first increases I have to release the lot and re-fill it repeatedly before it gets more increases.
Despite Ilya’s gaze not leaving me, I keep practicing, the strange reassurance of her presence making me wonder what Sarah would say. Though she can be strange, she’s not as strange as this situation. The dancing queen lyrics start going through my head with a twist—and I can’t hold back a snicker—imagining Sarah’s reaction to being called a bondage queen.
I’m feeling better and Inventory is well into beginner rank before Ilya runs out of patience. “Are you done playing with yourself yet?”
Choking back a howl of laughter, I release a Death Hound I only just stored in Inventory and set the other debris quietly beside it before I head up. “Do I teleport above the tower first or do you?”
“Before we go killing more foes, we should work on your technique. Sometimes your draw is smooth and other times ragged. I want you to target the trees choking the street. Don’t just fire randomly, aim for particular branches.”
“Will you tell me why?” I ask warily.
“The tower’s height is close to what you’d use for a low aerial sweep, so it’ll make good practice sighting targets,” explains Ilya, and gives me a firm look. “I won’t add smart questions to the tally. I want you to pay attention to the accuracy of your arrows at range. If you miss a target, pick another at a similar distance and height for the next.”
Just thinking about doing that in the middle of fighting makes my skin itch. “Could I pick targets that way between fights, so you can correct my technique? That would let me practice on moving foes with the next tower.”
Ilya’s gaze weight on me for a moment, and even though the request was a trick, before she answers I start to fidget. “You’ll need to work on keeping your composure as well. You need to get to where spells exploding around you can’t rattle your calm. One thing at a time though. The wide street to your left, let’s start with that one. Draw every arrow as if you’re going to shoot the bow at a target directly ahead. Your draw technique shouldn’t change, only the angle of your torso to your waist. Aim at the target as if it was directly level with you. Start with branches on the tree closest, and work along the street. Watch how your arrows drop as the range increases. Now begin.”
“What happens if something comes towards the noise?”
“Then you’ll have a moving target to aim for,” replies Ilya, and gives a wry smile. “That’s one extra tower. Begin.”
The tree’s song changes the moment the arrow severs the branch, and flinching back gains a sharp look from Ilya. “You hit it, pick another target, and keep firing. Again.”
“Can I put arrows into the stonework instead? The branch fell away. The stonework doesn’t break immediately, so I can tell where I hit.”
“Another thing I’ll avoid asking about, but that is true,” allows Ilya, and points at a building’s crescent shaped ledge. “Start with the railing’s middle and work back towards the building.”
The fletching brushes my cheek when the Spell whistles out from Ilya, and trees along the street tumble. The arrow goes sailing wildly away, when I fumble my grip. Dozen of discordant notes, and shifting songs, yet amid the changing music their song is still there but slowing. The last tree tumbling starts a word from me.
“Why?”
“That’s two extra towers, because you flinched the moment the arrow hit the branch. After toppling the street’s worth you look about ready to cry. You’re going to keep putting arrows into trees until you stop flinching. Shooting railings we’ll use for ranging practice after you clear the street so you can see all the railings in each street from here. Nothing can break your composure. Begin with the street to the right.”
“Why?”
“That’s four extra towers. I already told you. You’re not a Fallen, so whatever background that makes you flinch from harming a tree, you need to push past it. Nothing can break your composure. If someone can find a weakness in you, they will use it. Now start shooting trees, or I’ll start stabbing you.”
Wincing at the conviction in her song, I sing the weird severing note I’d heard towards a branch and cleanly cut it falls away.
[True Song [Ap](1->2)]
“Arrows, not songs. Start with the arrows, Isa.”
The draw of an arrow gets a sigh from Ilya, almost hidden under the arrow’s screaming song. The song brushing against my cheek, blends together with the cacophony from the trees. Each street losing its covering foliage and then the trees themselves, their sad song filling the city streets and the slow notes create an ache in my chest. Mr Message at least provides his approval of my archery practice, though far slower than he had during the fighting. When the streets are clear of trees and balconies alike—from hits and misses—my draw and release is growing smoother.
“It’s getting late in the day. Return to the ledge at the top of the mountain. You’ll lead the way flying down the mountain to the pool, don’t get lost. We’re doing more dagger practice.”
Picturing the location where Ilya had hovered—blasting wind into the tunnel—Teleport places me there, and I catch myself with Flight. It’s barely a moment later that Ilya reappears with a thoughtful expression and already a touch of impatience ripples in her music. Not giving her a chance to chew me out, I start down the mountain.
An arrow in a boulder has me back winging, and only when I come to a halt does Ilya bother to call any direction. “The other valley.”
What I wouldn’t give for a sat-nav.
I’m pleased when I eventually find the pool, and discount all the arrows pointing out wrong turns I made.
Ilya lands beside me, already grumbling. “You best be able to remember details about Hell a lot better than you can remember directions. The nine planes of Hell in descending order are: Avernus, Dis, Minauros, Phlegethos, Stygia, Malbolge, Maladomini, Cania, and finally Nessus.”
She barely finishes speaking when her blade is out. The moment Ilya moves to engage Teleport puts me across the pool, and I keep bouncing to a new spot with every word.
“Avernus, Dis, Minauros, Phlegethos, Stygia, Malbolge, Maladomini, Cania, and Nessus—I’m fine with names, even weird ones.”
[Infernal Lore (2->3)
Greater Teleport (Self) [Ap](5->6)]
All the teleports’ music mingles together with the pool’s gurgling waterfall and washes across the clearing.
“Good, that might make up for your slowness with weapon skills,” Ilya retorts, and motions me over.
Shaking my head, I point at the blade still in her hand. “You told me not to get close to someone with a blade out unless I was going to kill them.”
“Would you like to play catch with it instead?”
I almost flinch but hold myself together. “Well, I don’t want to invoke the primary rule of knife fighting, or the second.”
“Which are?” asks Ilya. The dagger flips in a blur and stops with its blade pinched between her fingers, and I rush to speak.
“Only draw a knife to kill, and proximity—get close to attack,” I blurt out the last part before her hand is up above her shoulder.
Ilya’s blade vanishes away, and crouching she picks up a stick and begins drawing something in the dirt. “Good. What did you notice about the skeletons?”
“They just kept coming,” I reply quickly, and cut off my answer about their music.
Ilya breathes out in a heavy sigh, an action that feels far too mortal compared to her normal behaviour. “Obviously, an education on Undead is needed as well, since you’ll run into them in Hell’s Legions, along with other places in the lower planes.”
“You’ve seen my imprint. What do I need to learn as a priority?”
“Everything you can about Hell and how to avoid getting yourself promoted sideways, killed, or in the breeding pens.”
“Breeding?”
“Erinys or Succubi are the only Devils that can get pregnant, unless you’re foolish enough to count a Kyton as a Devil. They don’t see themselves that way, and neither does the Hierarchy.”
The thought of the family I’d intended to have spears through me and Ilya glares at my wince. “Yeah, let’s avoid that.”
Ilya doesn’t remark on my wince, satisfied to take my words at face value—for now, at least. “Infernal Hierarchy, Infernal Lore, Infernal Law, Infernal Processes.”
“You said Infernal Lore twice,” I point out, and bite my lip at the flash of heat in her gaze.
“Lore versus L. A. W, you need to know the rules before you can risk breaking them,” Ilya retorts sharply.
The frustrated look she gives doesn’t match the unbothered state of her song, so I risk teasing her. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“Devil Lore, Acting, Diplomacy,” continues Ilya, this time ignoring my interruption.
My laughter at that one causes her to stop, and I explain myself when her glare fixes on me. “Diplomacy?! I mean I have it but I don’t think I’ll be an ambassador for anyone.”
“It’s a Skill that involves aspects of dealing with another, gathering information tactfully, knowing the right thing to do in order to manage egos and influencing a person’s attitude. To stay out of Hell as much as possible, you’ll want to be perceived as a wild card, untrusted among finer plots and ploys, but useful in the field.”
“Prove that I’m a feisty little puppet with fangs they want applied elsewhere?” I ask and get a quick nod from Ilya. “Sounds like a lot to learn. Can the evenings focus on knowledge and the days combat?”
“I want to get your Class levels and combat skills higher first.”
A mental hum is all it takes to double check my Profile. “How high did you want them? I’m level four in Spell Singer, plus Priest, and halfway through level two in Archer and Fighter.”
“What?!” exclaims Ilya with a sputter. “After fighting one tower of trash? You shouldn’t have advanced that quickly.”
“I’m nearly level five in G… Spell Singer,” I scramble to recover, almost blowing it and scramble for a cover story. “Sorry was going to call it my good Class, but I know you like accuracy.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Ilya growls.
Ilya’s cutting motion silences me, but confusion swirling in her music speaks clearer than the guesture’s sharpness.
“I do not know how you gained strength so fast and I won’t dig. Stand here and practice the dagger techniques I showed you. Stabs first, and then the deflections; focus on proper technique. While you practice, I will share what I know about certain subjects, and you’d best be able to answer my questions. Is that clear?”
Teleport puts me where she’d pointed and I start on the most basic stabs without a pause.
“Avernus currently has its main Portal connected to Hades, but Planar topography shifts about for unknown reasons. It last shifted a few hundred years after I arrived in Hell. Theories for the shift range from the Titan playing games, to the destruction of the Plane’s cities in a Demonic assault aligning it closer to the Abyss.”
“It shifts?”
“Listen and focus on practicing that stab; you can ask questions later but remember dumb questions add extra towers.”
“I was told: there is no such thing as a dumb question, except the one you don’t ask.”
“Whatever you were told by someone else, keep it to yourself,” growls Ilya. “I’ll tell you what you need to know to survive Hell. Old advice might get us both in unwanted trouble.”
The wording brings up a smile, and I really want to know. “Should I take it you wanted the trouble that got you into this scout role?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ilya says, her contrite expression unreflected in her song. “It was a complete accident, just as unfortunate as the events during his recovery.”
* * *
The sky’s song eventually changed with the dawn, but Ilya’s lecture and questions went on until the tips of the first rays crept through the clearing. I can only hope the increases in knowledge skills called out during the evening, speak for the quality of Ilya’s information. Would it call out increases if she was telling me crap?
I barely deflect Ilya’s casual strike before the next question comes, and she steps clear to let me answer it unpressed. “Archeron?”
“Aligned on the great planar wheel between The Nine Hells, and Mechanus, it’s an eternal battleground favoured by various Gods of War. Natural Portals connect it to Nirvana, Outlands, and the Astral Plane. The remains of its old natural Gate to the Nine Hells are near the Fortress where the Arch-Devil Zariel rules the Plane of Avernus.”
“Economic situation of Avernus?”
”A Demonic assault that occurred prior to the shifting of the planes destroyed the wealthy cities that previously existed. Their plundered wealth is still in the possession of the Demon Lords involved in the assault; there are outstanding bounties on their commanders. The Plane’s old manufacturing complexes and cities are training grounds for Hell’s Legions.”
“That will do for now,” Ilya says. “You said your Spell Singer Class was nearly level five, focus purely on that for the first tower, I want to see what happens to your Class. Teleport back to the Tower we handled.”
A push of focus and I’m there, with the debris from yesterday sitting undisturbed. Ilya appears a moment later and points in a clockwise direction around the city’s edge. “Teleport to the second tower along and use only songs.”
“They’re almost a kilometre apart, and the city is big. Should we really skip one, or try each?” I ask.
Ilya gives me a questioning look, but at least she isn’t raging mad. “You’re not very good at just following orders, are you?”
“That depends if they’re going to get me stabbed or not,” I retort, and bite my tongue.
“We’re doing every second one today. Tomorrow we’ll come back and try a middle tower. Hopefully, this gives us the best progress, and if the first tower tomorrow is a bust, we’ll resume with every second,” Ilya explains, and motions again.
I don’t make her ask a third time and Teleport, only to have Mr Message give me another update to go along with the night’s training.
[Greater Teleport (Self) [Ap](7->8)]
A quartet of skeleton guards stand within the tower, motionless around the remains of a shattered table. Their song is grim and stains the enduring notes that rise from the tower’s stone. They don’t react to my appearance, nor to Ilya’s. Quick music augments her song and a spell blade of energised air cuts through two of them and sends their bodies crashing down the curved staircase. I focus on duplicating the music of my arrows and sing to the standing skeletons. The music catching hold shatters them with the strain of holding the chaotic notes.
[Combat Summary:
Skeletons: x4 (x50%)
Total experience gained: 300
Glinnel: +300
Glinnel Levelled Up!
True Song [Ap](2->3)]
The slight fatigue from the song’s effort washes away with the message.
“Level five Spell Singer,” I offer.
“That’s crazy. I’ve no idea how you’re progressing so fast. Let me gather them up,” Ilya grumbles, and a rolling song sounds out. A booming heartbeat starts up within the tower, its pulse echoing outwards through every opening. Figures that moments before were sitting slumped amid the trees rise to their feet and a procession heads within. The sound had barely begun when the next skeletons round the staircase’s bend. The chorus of hatred coming from below doesn’t stop me from focusing on these first.
The energy of Ilya’s next Spell pushes all the air away from them. Its purpose is puzzling, but I quickly find it’s not to steal their breath. When the air surges back into place, the wave front of glowing energy crushes two within its bear trap. I sing the sharp slicing notes that had toppled trees, though more skeletons fall, others appear around the curve.
Bursts of sharp notes repeatedly spill from my lips, until hoarse with fatigue, I twist a scalpel note off key, and blood sprays from my mouth. Punch drunk, a moment of agony spins me in mid-air, every cough to clear the iron searing in my throat and bouncing me about. But the music of Ilya’s spells doesn’t even pause.
[True Song fatigue failure: - Effect Emulation Rebound
Existing subdual damage converted to lethal: 298
Health Remaining: 20
- 19 (Subdual Injury)
- 1
Blind Luck (5->10) [Critical Failure averted - damage increase negated]
]
Clutching my amulet so tightly the fletching digs into flesh I beckon a healing Blessing forth and cool energy washes through me, stealing a fraction of the pain. The message I receive isn’t what I was hoping for, but I’m still thankful for the improvement.
[Health: +30
Mana: -4
Health Remaining: 31
- 19 (Subdual Injury Cleared)
Mana: 230
]
The exhaustion that has been seeping into my bones washes away, leaving only pain radiating through flesh. Ilya barely spares a sidewards glance and keeps casting at the enemies gathering at the tower’s top. Blessings follow one atop another and the jumps in health remain consistent until my regeneration kicks in to speed it up.
I’m down another thirty-six Mana by the time my health is within a single casting from full. Regeneration energy surging around within me, I draw my bow and start firing it at the Skeletons crowding the top of the stairs.
[Ranged Attack Power: 52 x 3 (Soul Bow - Beginner Rank) = 156
Innate Chaos infusion: 100 + 42 (Magic Rating) = 142
Total Damage: 156 + 142 - 22 (Foe’s Defence) = 276
]
The notification catches my attention and I spot how lucky I was before. It seems I don’t have any defence from my own Song. If I’d been copying the music of a stronger Soul Bow, even with Blind Luck negating further damage, I’d be back in Hell for that century right now.
Whispering prayers of thanks to Luck, my hand shakes against the string, and I steady myself to fire again. I let my spikes of fear out through the booming arrows. As they reap through the continuing horde, each arrow’s path grows steadier than the last, and their impacts drive bones against stone, adding to the noise of Ilya’s Spell.
The skeletons come crowding up the stairs far longer than yesterday, but this time no Death Hound with the horde.
[Combat Summary:
Skeletons: 506 (x50%)
Total experience gained: 37,950
Erinys: 6,641
Erinys Levelled Up!
Glinnel: 11,385
Glinnel Levelled Up!
Archer: 6,641
Archer Levelled Up! x2
Fighter: 6,641
Fighter Levelled Up! x2
Priest: 6,641
Priest Levelled Up!
Blind Luck (5->10)
Conviction (2->4)
Improved Regeneration [Ap](10->11)
Soul Bow [B](19) -> [Ap] (2)
True Song [Ap] (3->5)
Mental Resilience [B](17->18)
Pain Tolerance (2->3)
]
Ilya gives a shiver before she motions to my face. “You’ve still got blood on your chin. What happened?”
Scrubbing a hand across it coats my fingers in crusted blood, and I rub it from my skin. “Singing spells is apparently hazardous if I get too tired and each song makes fatigue soak further in; I ripped myself up pretty bad.”
My explanation simply gets me a nod before she points towards the next tower. “Lots of daylight left. Keep using your bow for the rest of today. Focus on a proper draw, stance, and your aim. I’ll be progressing my Wizard Class for a bit.”
A glance shows the sun has barely finished cresting the mountains. “It’s not even mid-morning.”
“Then we’ll see if we can empty the areas around four more towers. The inner-city areas don’t have them, so this will be the easiest energy surges to strengthen you we can get. The terrain letting you practice your archery technique is a bonus, but skills always go up faster in battle or in other dangerous situations.”
Some of the buildings below us are nearly half the height of the ten story towers, and I wave towards them before I voice my question. “Shouldn’t there be more Undead? This place looks almost like a dense housing section of the city.”
Ilya gives a half shrug before she pulls a face. “Can’t assume they were all left where they fell, or they were even here when they died. Imagine a Mortal village swarmed by a horde of these.”
The fearful notes in Ilya’s song don’t match the bland expression on her face, but I feel sick picturing them herding people together with their curved blades. Picturing a Death Hound ramping through a shopping centre causes me to shudder.
Still Ilya’s attitude isn’t a response I would have expected from any Devil, and doesn’t match her attacks. “Were you Mortal?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not, but I doubt it’s a secret among those in Hell,” I reply quickly.
Ilya’s stare digs into me cutting sharper than her blade. “Yes, I was a stupid Mortal and I accepted a contract from an Erinys. I told her I didn’t have much but she agreed to charge one thing. She didn’t say it would be my Soul. Though she didn’t expect me to become an Erinys. I met her years later, and she wouldn’t stop laughing.”
“If arriving Erinys are normal fallen Celestials, how did you end up one?”
“My family carried the blood-line of the Djinn,” Ilya says, and her normal steady tone turns to ice. “Though I didn’t transform into one before even hitting the river, I boiled in a lake and it shattered my Soul. I reformed directly into an Erinys not a Lemure. After I got to the lake’s surface, I was captured and put in training. It’s past time we moved onto the next tower.”
